Steven Erikson Quotes

Futility has become a great subject, full of opportunities.

Famously, there's not really anywhere to go after nihilism. It's not progressing toward anything, it's a statement of outrage, however brilliant.

When people conclude that all is futile, then the absurd becomes the norm.

Life is tragic and absurd, and none of it has any purpose at all.

Everything is the same, nothing is worthwhile, the world is senseless, knowledge strangles.

Life may be not only meaningless but absurd.

Since all life is futility, then the decision to exist must be the most irrational of all.

I've reached the point where I hardly care whether I live or die. The world will keep on turning without me, and I can't do anything to change events anyway.

It was over now, and the meaningless world was tolerable and need not be explained. And never would it be, and how foolish I had ever been to think so.

Why should anything happen when everything has happened?

Insect politics, indifferent universe. Bang your head against the wall, but apathy is worse.

Perhaps I'm old and tired, but I always think that the chances of finding out what really is going on are so absurdly remote that the only thing to do is to say hang the sense of it and just keep yourself occupied.

Nothing makes sense, why should I?

Nihilism is not only despair and negation, but above all the desire to despair and to negate.

I hope we're not just human garbage drifting toward a big sewer. But I think so.

Futility is the defining characteristic of life.

Everything in the world is gloriously meaningless.

L'homme est une passion inutile. Man is a useless passion.

The point is there ain't no point.

Nothing matters. Nothing matters.

By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing; but instead of nonchalantly promenading our own corruption, we exude our sweat and grow winded upon the fetid air.

In the world it is called Tolerance, but in hell it is called Despair...the sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and remains alive because there is nothing for which it will die.

The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later.

There were days when she was unhappy, she did not know why,--when it did not seem worthwhile to be glad or sorry, to be alive or dead; when life appeared to her like a grotesque pandemonium and humanity like worms struggling blindly toward inevitable annihilation.

This absurd, godless world is, then, peopled with men who think clearly and have ceased to hope. And I have not yet spoken of the most absurd character, who is the creator.